


Morning Breaks in Saint Petersburg

by neomeruru



Series: The Katsuki-Nikiforov Sex Palace [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Come Eating, Domestic Fluff, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: Yuuri moves in with Victor in Russia and makes himself at home, with some help.This fic has been recorded by Rhea, and you can listen to it here!!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [littleloststar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostStar), thank goodness for her.

It's the middle of the night when Yuuri lands in St. Petersburg, but airports don't sleep. On their own, none of his flights had even come close to being the longest flight he'd ever been on, but by the time the doors on the plane opened to cold Russian air, he'd been in transit over twenty-five hours. His stopover in Shanghai had been fourteen hours alone, and inconveniently, too soon in the journey that it hadn't made sense to sleep. A second stopover in Moscow meant he'd at least already gone through customs, which was a small mercy.

It's a little intimidating, telling a customs official that your stay in their country is indefinite. Why is he staying? For work. Where will he live? With his coach. Yes, together. The customs official, a petite blonde woman with a hawk-like nose, had given him a look like she'd wanted to make his night even longer, but his papers were well in order. She'd stamped his passport and sent him on his way, where he'd managed to find a sandwich and a fitful, guarded nap.

Finally at his destination, it takes almost all of his remaining energy just to follow the small gaggle of deplaning passengers as they're shuttled via hallways and television monitors through to the baggage claim. He doesn't have much with him; most of his belongings had been sent via ground a few weeks ago. The large grey suitcase he collects represents the entirety of the remaining wardrobe that had sustained him since then, as well as gifts for his new teammates, his coach and - of course - Victor, courtesy of his mother. He slings his carry-on bag over the top of the suitcase and navigates it to the arrivals terminal, following the signs with years of long practice in airports all over the world.

Pulkovo Airport isn't particularly big, not like Detroit or Narita. He's through to the arrivals terminal in minutes, passing sleepy-eyed drivers with names on whiteboards before he even registers being there.

He scans the crowd, but there's a significantly denser concentration of tall, fair-haired people here than when Victor last picked him up at Fukuoka airport, and with exhausted eyes he nearly doesn't see Victor before he's right in front of him, smiling and saying his name.

"Yuuri," Victor repeats, brushing his knuckles over the place where facemask meets cheekbone. Yuuri scrambles to pull down his mask, and holds Victor's cold hand to his cheek. He's so exhausted he could cry, so instead he pulls Victor in for a hug and buries his face in his scarf, inhaling the comforting scent that's entirely him.

This late at night, there's no one to inconvenience by standing in the way of the arrival doors, so for the first time in weeks he just lets himself be held. Victor's hands rub his back through his thick jacket, coming up to stroke his hair. Yuuri breathes in and holds tight.

"How was your flight?" Victor asks, gently turning Yuuri in his arms so they can walk together, Yuuri leaning against him under one arm. With the other, he effortlessly wheels the suitcase along behind them.

Relieved of his burdens, Yuuri sags. "Long," he mumbles, because there's really only one thing to say after being in the air over a day. "Where's Makkachin?"

The automatic doors blast the two with frigid mid-winter air as they open to the road. "I left him at home," Victor says, navigating them across the street to the line of taxis. Yuuri looks up, letting himself be guided. The night sky is starless, illuminated in grey only where the moon peeks through the clouds, and the land is airport-flat as far as he can see.

"How is he adjusting to the new place?" he asks. Victor had moved when he returned to Russia, citing the fact he'd need to be closer to the rink if he was to be pulling double shifts as both athlete and coach. On Facetime, Yuuri noticed his new place had two bedrooms. _Of course_ , Victor'd said, _you'll need a place to keep your things. Though you don't have to stay there, if you don't want to_ , like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Victor guides them to a black town car, which starts up as they approach. "There's much more space. I think he enjoys it," he says, nodding at the driver as she comes around the car to get the door and luggage for them. Victor's face is so close as Yuuri pauses, their breath wreathing their heads. "I think he missed you, though," Victor murmurs, nudging his nose against Yuuri's.

Yuuri smiles bashfully, looking away as he gets in the car. "I missed him too," he demurs, and he doesn't need to look back to see the way Victor's expression goes soft.

Victor slides in after him and they buckle themselves in as the trunk of the car slams shut on Yuuri's luggage. They say hello to the driver, first Victor in Russian and Yuuri in English, then Yuuri again in Russian. It's one of the few phrases he feels like he can remember at this hour, except for the ones Leo had tried to teach him when he heard he'd be relocating to Russia, the ones he'd learned from playing online games. Those hadn't been covered in his Duolingo courses.

Victor looks pleased though, and squeezes their hands together where they rest entwined on the soft leather seat between them. "Your pronunciation is getting better," he says.

"I should be practicing," Yuuri answers. He's fighting a yawn, but the yawn wins.

Victor smiles and brings Yuuri's knuckles to his lips. "Do you want to sleep? My place is only about twenty minutes from here."

Yuuri lets his head rest against the window as the town car pulls into the road. "I want to listen to you talk," he says, as his eyes close. "Would you just talk to me? In Russian, I mean."

Victor says something in Russian that Yuuri can assume is an affirmative, though not in a form he recognizes yet. The warmth comes through anyway, and he smiles as Victor starts talking. His voice is low and comforting, evenly paced. In his native language, words seem to come even easier to Victor, and Yuuri lets it wash over him -- it's nothing like a video call, it's so much better.

At first Yuuri catches every fifth word, and then every tenth, and as his breathing starts to slow down, Victor's voice recedes into pleasant background noise. The streetlights illuminate the inside of his eyelids in turn, and the luxury car is smooth and quiet. It's not long at all before he passes through that liminal phase just underneath waking and falls deep into a proper healing sleep, still holding Victor's hand.

\-----

When he opens his eyes again, he is in a bed. Grey morning light filters through the cracks in the curtains, spilling across sheets that smell faintly of flowers. Yuuri turns his head from the light, burrowing his head in the blanket and breathing in the scent that's so clearly Victor's laundry soap, here at the source.

The veil of sleep lifts from him slowly. He dimly remembers moving from the car to inside the apartment, though nothing about the elevator ride in between or actually making it to bed. His shoes and socks are off, as well as his jacket and sweater. When he opens his eyes again he can make out the blurry shape of his glasses on the nightstand, as well as a glass of water. Behind that, his luggage is tucked in the corner. The walls are white, the floor some kind of dark wood. The room is bare otherwise, save for a small tower of cardboard boxes containing all his belongings.

He sleepily scritches the exposed skin where his t-shirt rides up, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. His head feels stuffed with cotton -- he can't have slept all that long, seeing as how it had been well into the early morning when he arrived, and the sun was just waking him now. Luckily, in St. Petersburg in January, the sun is as slow to rise as he is.

He looks for his phone and finds it under the pillow, exactly where he would have put it had he the forethought last night. He smiles as he clicks the screen on, pleased that Victor remembered a little thing like where he keeps his phone at night. The screen reads 8:43. On a normal day, he'd already be at the rink after his morning jog, but today isn’t normal.

Today is the first day of his new life in Russia.

He fires off a text to check in with his mother, who has probably been up for hours already in Japan. He sends a string of airplane emoji to Phichit, ending with the Russian flag and a checkmark, and gets a thumbs-up emoji back almost immediately.

Yuuri huffs and turns his phone off, slipping it into the pocket of the sweatpants he's still wearing from the plane. Steeling himself, he swings his legs off the bed and is surprised to find the floor is heated -- he lifts his foot experimentally a few times, just to be sure. He pads barefoot across the small room and opens the blinds, blinking into the sunrise. St. Petersburg stretches out before him from a great height, flat and dappled with colourful roofs and knots of brown parks. A nearby river wends through the city, lined with leisure boats. He guesses he's about twenty or twenty-five storeys up, and from afar the city is small and sleepy.

He hears the jingling before he sees where it's coming from, and then Makkachin's paws are on his shoulders and the back of his head is wet. "Makkachin!" Yuuri laughs, turning to put his arms around the big poodle. Makkachin responds by lovingly licking all over Yuuri's face. "I missed you too, boy," Yuuri says, sinking his fingers into his curly brown coat.

Makkachin's paws are heavy as he hits the ground on all four feet again, nails clicking on the hardwood as he dances around Yuuri. "Are you hungry?" Yuuri asks, though the answer is obvious. Makkachin puts his big head under Yuuri's hand as they walk. "Okay, show me where the food is. Give me the tour, okay?"

'The tour', as it happens, encompasses the hallway, guest bathroom, a little room Yuuri supposes is for laundry, the entryway, and finally the kitchen, where Makkachin stops. Yuuri ruffles his fur as he looks through the cupboards, finding a big bag of dog food and a scoop under the sink. There's cans of wet food too, and he plates that as well, because he's not above dog bribery. As he's filling Makkachin's water bowl, he can really take in the sight of Victor's apartment.

He knew it was big, but Facetime didn't do it justice. From the kitchen, he can see the entire open living area. The ceilings are higher than he thought, two storeys tall in the living area, with a walkway above him that provides a roof for the kitchen area. _Victor must have the penthouse_ , he thinks, putting the bowl of water down. The living area was sparsely decorated and lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, through which there's a patio with a few chairs and what looks like a covered hot tub. There's a grand piano in the corner, and Yuuri wonders if Victor plays. _There's so much we don't know about each other still_ , he thinks, as he turns back to the kitchen.

There's no breakfast food, but there's a single-cup instant coffee maker and a box of all the same flavour of single-use pucks for the machine, so Yuuri picks one and starts it. The smell of coffee quickly fills the air, turning the austere living space into something more like a home. He takes the mug and leaves Makkachin to eat in the kitchen, walking through the living room to climb the spiral staircase to where Victor's bedroom must be.

The landing at the top of the stairs is just as austere; there's a small sitting area with some half-empty bookshelves and a desk with a laptop open on it. There's three mugs on the otherwise-empty desk, just like the one in Yuuri's hand, and he feels a pang of loneliness on Victor's behalf rise in his chest. This place is nothing like Yu-topia. His family home may have been cramped and creaky, it didn't have all the amenities of Victor's apartment, but it had been a _home_. No wonder Victor had taken to his family so quickly.

He curls his hands around the warmth of the mug and takes strength from it. This is his home now too, and it was up to him to make it feel like one. Victor'd only been here a few months; everything he'd seen so far was bought because it was needed, not because it was loved. They can work on it together.

There are two doors on this level, and from size alone Yuuri infers which one is Victor's and which is probably the bathroom. He gently opens the door, careful not to spill the coffee, and is greeted by the sight of a Victor-shaped lump in the big bed, pale feet sticking out from the covers.

Yuuri can feel himself smile as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him so Makkachin can't get in and wake up Victor. It's still dark in this room, curtains drawn over blinds shut tight against the sunrise, and as Yuuri slips across the floor to Victor he notices… something else.

Something underfoot. Stuck to his foot, actually, and he looks down to scrape it off his sole. It's… a rose petal?

Yuuri blinks into the dim room, willing his eyes to adjust. Yes, scattered across the hardwood is a path of rose petals leading to the bed, a little dry but still velvet to the touch as he steps further into the room. What's more, the rest of the room is lined with candles on every surface. None look burned down at all, even the tall tapers - they must have been set up ahead of time and not lit.

The warmth that starts in his heart spreads outwards, tingling and giddy in his stomach. _Oh, Victor_ , he thinks he pads silently up to the bed and sets down the coffee. The blanket lump is devoid of petals, and the unused side is thick with them, some brushed off on the floor as well. Victor's silver head sticks out from the blankets, a red petal stuck to his hair.

In sleep he is relaxed in a way Yuuri rarely sees, his face soft and unlined in the watery light. His lips move gently with his breath, eyelashes thick on his cheeks. He is even more beautiful than usual, and Yuuri feels that pang of loneliness again just looking at him, though it's tempered with the incredible thought that this is his life now. These mornings belong to him. Victor's love belongs to him.

The bed dips as Yuuri sits gently in the niche left by the curl of Victor's body. Emboldened, he reaches out to brush that silver fringe out of Victor's eyes, fingers tracing the soft line of his brow. _His_. The thought makes his heart clench, though not unpleasantly.

Victor makes a sleepy noise and his brow knits, but instead of pulling his hand away, Yuuri cups Victor's cheek and runs his thumb over his cheekbone. "Good morning," he whispers, stroking gently. "It's still early. I made coffee."

"Mmmn," Victor hums, and turns into Yuuri's hand. His eyes flutter, but don't open. "You're here," he tries again. His voice is craggy with sleep. Yuuri can feel the way his smile curls under his hand.

"Yeah, I'm really here," Yuuri answers, and leans in to brush his nose against Victor's. Taking the hint, Victor angles his head to brush his lips against Yuuri's, tentatively at first before Yuuri leans in the rest of the way.

Kissing Victor is the most anything's felt like home all morning.

Their lips are sticky at first, chapped from sleep, but the gentle play of their tongues soon wipes its traces from their memories and their bodies. Victor turns to him like a flower to the sun, his own hand coming up to cradle Yuuri's face as well. It's perfect, slow, languid. Time spools out around them in the space of a kiss, relearning each other by way of lips and tongue.

Yuuri kisses Victor's bottom lip, then the corner of his mouth, the soft pad of his cheek, the hard line of his jaw and then soft again underneath, where Victor's waking pulse quickens. Victor tilts his head in wordless invitation and Yuuri presses a line of kisses down the long arch of his neck. His hand falls from Victor's face and slips under the blanket, pushing it down Victor's chest.

"Yuuri…" Victor breathes, rising into his touch. He still hasn't completely opened his eyes. "Oh, touch me -- I missed you so much…"

Yuuri sucks a kiss into the soft juncture of Victor's shoulder, rides the way it makes Victor jerk and cry out. With his nails he traces down Victor's chest, down his ribs, down the gentle cradle of his lap and down his thighs, and back up to that join of thigh and groin, tantalizing even through the thin flannel of Victor's pajama pants. Under the blanket Victor is like a roaring fire, all warmth.

He can't resist; he quickly takes off his shirt and slips under the blanket alongside Victor, pressing himself all along his side. The warmth is incredible, Victor's body radiating heat. They wrap their arms around each other, kissing lazily as their legs tangle together under the blanket.

"The rose petals," Yuuri murmurs into Victor's mouth between kisses, eliciting a smile. "You set them up for me."

"You fell asleep," Victor says, and hooks his leg behind Yuuri's knee to drag him impossibly closer. Through two layers of pants, their growing erections knock together and drag a groan from them both.

"I'm awake now," Yuuri murmurs into the soft skin of Victor's neck.

"Yeah, yes," is all Victor can say as Yuuri's hand slips under the hem of his pants, closing around his member. Yuuri strokes him languidly, alternating long slow strokes with flattening his palm over the head where wetness beads and slicks the way. Yuuri takes his mouth again, drinking in the little gasps that escape Victor as he leisurely brings him to full hardness.

"The nightstand," Victor manages, and Yuuri reaches back with his other hand to pull open the door and fish out a bottle of lube.

"You want this?" he asks, and Victor nods, taking the bottle and uncapping it without even removing his arms from around Yuuri. He reaches down under the blanket and Yuuri stills, waiting for the cool drizzle of lube and the _snick_ of the cap again before resuming.

The change is astronomical -- at the first warm stroke, Victor's back arches and he lets out a long moan, holding Yuuri tight around the shoulders as a shudder ripples through him. "Oh, _oh_ ," he breathes, and Yuuri sucks another biting kiss into his neck just to hear the way his voice stops, becomes just a hissing intake of breath and an explosive release of fricatives.

The next thing that comes out of Victor's mouth is in Russian, and those words were _definitely_ not in any Duolingo course, not the way they fall out of Victor's mouth like dirty secrets. He recognizes his name, and not much else except for the way Victor's body moves against his.

"Yuuri, Yuuri," Victor repeats again, increasing in urgency. In his hand, Yuuri can feel the velvet pulse of his impending release, hard and heavy and slick. He makes a firm circle of his hand and lets Victor fuck up into it, loosening his fingers at the head and tightening them at the base, drawing him closer to completion.

Victor's mouth finds him, pressing open-mouthed kisses against his forehead and cheek at first before finding his lips. He's beyond kissing, just lets their lips slide against each other, lets Yuuri swallow his breath straight from his mouth as his body tenses and relaxes, shuddering under Yuuri's grip.

The moan that accompanies his release is sweet, broken on the end as he gasps for breath. Yuuri strokes him through it, dragging his spend with his fingers up and down Victor's length, relishing the way each stroke over the sensitive head makes Victor jerk and hiss through his teeth. He strokes until the hissing gives way to little huffs of laughter, Victor squirming against him until he's a hair's breadth away from begging for mercy.

When he lets go, Victor takes Yuuri by the wrist and pulls his hand out from under the blanket. He presses a kiss to its messy palm, uncaring of the way it smears across his lips. Entranced, Yuuri watches him carefully clean all traces of his spend from Yuuri's hand, knowing Victor can see the heat in his eyes when he diligently sucks each finger clean.

Victor sighs as he relaxes back into the pillow, then says something quiet in Russian that Yuuri still can't grasp. He tilts his head at Victor, questioning, but Victor shakes his head. "It's nothing," he murmurs as he presses a soft kiss to Yuuri's cheek. "Good morning. I don't think I said that."

Yuuri looks down on Victor fondly as he passes him the cup of coffee. "No, you didn't," he says as he watches Victor gingerly drink from the mug without moving from the pillow as much as he can.

When Victor kisses him again, he tastes like coffee. "Then, good morning," he says warmly, and Yuuri takes the mug and puts it safely behind him on the nightstand. He repeats it in Russian, which is something Yuuri thankfully does know, as well as the soft 'thank you' that comes afterward.

"What can I do for you?" Victor continues, in English again. His eyes crinkle at the edges. "For the coffee, of course."

Yuuri smiles and rearranges himself so he's more on his side, giving Victor the space to move. "Lie on your side for me?"

Victor does, his head pillowed on Yuuri's arm, and they fit together like two puzzle pieces. Yuuri's member slots perfectly in the groove of Victor's thighs, a fact which Victor realizes and takes advantage of immediately. "Yuuri," he says, coy. "I like this."

Yuuri buries his head in Victor's shoulder as he reaches over them to retrieve the bottle of lubricant. "Yeah," he mumbles into the soft, warm skin there. "Keep your legs together, okay?"

Victor makes an affirmative noise and Yuuri can feel his feet moving under the blanket, locking his ankles together. It tightens his thighs, and Yuuri takes a shaky breath as he drizzles lube messily over himself and the seam of Victor's ass. He caps the bottle and tosses it aside, then lines himself up with that inviting niche.

It's Victor who actually moves, flexing to draw Yuuri between his thighs. Surprised, the breath Yuuri had been holding hisses out as he thrusts forward, breaching the soft warm gap under Victor's balls.

Victor makes another noise, this time pleased. "Oh, I like this a lot," he whispers, turning his head to kiss Yuuri's forearm. Yuuri thrusts a few more times, smearing the inside of Victor's thighs with warm slick, and then Victor is moving to meet him on each thrust.

The movements are small, but the space is tight and incredibly hot; it doesn't take long at all before Yuuri can feel his own heat coil in his lower body sooner than he'd like. The warm flex of Victor's thighs, the way his ass grinds against him on each thrust, the little motions of his body like a hundred hands pulling Yuuri farther down the path to his own completion.

He wraps his arms around Victor, one low around his stomach, the other under Victor's head curling around. Victor nips at his fingers, taking one into his mouth to make a noisy show of sucking on it. Yuuri fits his head against the short hairs at the nape of Victor's neck and breathes him in, his head swimming with how close and warm and tight and _present_ Victor is, after months apart. Nothing compared to the man writhing against him now - not his hand, not Victor's sultry voice as they brought themselves to completion over the phone, nothing. Nothing was better than the slow, slick slide of their bodies together under the blanket, in the apartment that was theirs, in their lives together beginning from this point.

Yuuri's teeth graze the meat of Victor's shoulder as he comes with a breathless grunt, painting the insides of Victor's thighs with his spend. He just holds on, quaking down to his toes, as close to Victor as one can get without overlapping.

Victor releases Yuuri's finger from his mouth and puts his cheek in Yuuri's hand instead, so he scritches affectionately at Victor's hairline, eliciting a pleased laugh.

"S'better than the phone," Yuuri mumbles nonsensically into the back of Victor's neck, who laughs more freely and turns to face Yuuri properly.

"Yuuri," he says, voice fond. It's all he needs to say, before his lips are on Yuuri's. This kiss is even more languid that the ones that came before, entirely Victor's lips and tongue coaxing Yuuri back to some semblance of coherence. Victor's hands come up to cup Yuuri's face, deepening the kiss to something that would have been filthy, had it the heat it needed. As it is, Yuuri's content just to lazily trade kisses back and forth, enjoying the simple pleasure of just being with each other.

It's Victor who pulls back, resting his forehead against Yuuri's with a smile. "I'm a mess," he laughs, and Yuuri can feel his legs move restlessly against him.

"Ah, sorry--" Yuuri begins to apologize, and is silenced by a quick kiss.

"Don't," Victor whispers, running his foot down Yuuri's calf. "I love it. I want it every day."

Yuuri swallows thickly, and nods.

Victor sits up gingerly and peels the blanket off, shaking it so a shower of discarded rose petals explodes from the other side of the bed. Yuuri watches him blink comically at it, then smile back at him. "Well, those didn't go to waste," he proclaims as he balls up the blanket. 

Yuuri levers himself up on one elbow and reaches out for Victor, plucking the first petal from where it still clings stubbornly to his hair. He holds it out to Victor, who blows it off his palm to be with the others on the floor. "Is that lucky?" Victor asks, "It feels lucky."

Yuuri can feel his smile unfurl, like the warmth that blooms in his chest. _I love you,_ he thinks fiercely. _I love you, I love you, and that's all the luck I need._

"Hmm?" Victor nudges him at his silence, and Yuuri shakes his head.

"It's nothing," he answers in Russian, and Victor's face breaks into a smile.

Victor answers in Russian as well, but Yuuri doesn't need a translation. He follows Victor to the shower, hand-in-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I write, I draw, I make julienne fries! Comments sustain my yawning need for validation! [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com)


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